Freshman
by LaylaBinx
Summary: Teen-chesters! Sammy gets mugged on the way home from school. Hurt Sam! Big brother Dean! :D Sam is 14, Dean is 18. Hope you like it!
1. Deland

**Oh my God!! Ever since I started watching Supernatural again I've had like 43 story ideas and they refuse to leave me alone until they're written!! They're starting to overlap...O.o Anyway, hope you enjoy this!! It started out as a oneshot but I decided to extend it :D**

**I still own nothing :( But if I did...wow...*wanders off with dirty thoughts***

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"So you're going to be a freshman, huh?" The woman behind the administrations desk asked, winking at the young man standing awkwardly in front of her.

"Uh, yes ma'am." Sam answered hesitantly, watching as she pulled out a few transfer forms from a drawer hidden behind the desk. Today was his first day of high school; well, _this_ high school. He'd already been to a number of different schools around the country, most of the time only for a few weeks until they had to move again. Dean often asked him why he insisted on enrolling in school every time they moved somewhere new but Sam just shrugged and explained that he actually wanted to have a normal school experience when everything else in their life was so abnormal. Dean didn't get it; he had gotten his GED and was perfectly content with having never walked across the stage to receive a diploma but for some reason Sam didn't see it that way. He wanted to graduate on time with an actual class and there was very little he or his father could say about it.

"Alright, here we go." The woman said, plucking a pen off the desk and scribbling a few things into the blanks on the paper. "What's your full name, hon?"

Sam had been through this enough times to perfect his story. His name was Samuel James Howell, his birthday was August 22nd, 1983, social security number was 891-43-1872, he and his family had moved here from South Carolina for his father's business. He answered all of the questions automatically, not really having to think about the response as hard as he used to. The story had been carefully constructed by his father and older brother so that way he wouldn't have to pause after each question to come up with an appropriate answer. The less suspicions raised the better.

The woman nodded as he answered all of her questions and passed him the paper. "Okay, hon, I just need you to sign here to acknowledge that you understand the school's policies and regulations.

Sam nodded and signed his name in the blanks she pointed to, skimming over the paragraph as he did. It was exactly the same as every other school he had been to.

"Alright, and since you're starting a little later in the semester, I'm going to have to put you into regular classes instead of the advanced program."

Sam shrugged a little. "That's fine." In most of the other schools he had been placed in the AP classes because of his high reading level but it wasn't a terrible loss to be in a regular class either.

The woman filled out a few more papers and grinned at him. "Alright, Mr. Howell. You're all done." She passed him a thin plastic card attached to a lanyard and a sheet of paper. "This is your student ID," She explained, pointing to the card. "And this is your schedule. Go upstairs to room 109 and just show the teacher your ID. Welcome to Deland High."

Sam took the schedule and tucked it in his pocket, slipping the lanyard over his head as well. "Thank you." He said honestly, flashing her a smile as he stepped out into the hallway of the unfamiliar building. Taking a deep, calming breath, he started up the stairs to his first class.

**OOOOO**

Sam knocked on the door softly, waiting outside until a middle-aged woman with graying blond hair opened the door. She looked at him in confusion for a second before smiling. "You must be Sam, right?"

Sam nodded hesitantly, pulling out his schedule and handing it to her. "Yeah, I was told this was my first class."

The woman looked over the schedule for a second and nodded. "Yep, you're in the right place." She handed it back to him and smiled. "My name is Mrs. Davenport." She stepped aside and nodded for him to walk into the classroom.

Almost immediately, the noise from within stopped and every person in the room locked eyes on Sam. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention, but the teacher appeared behind him and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Everyone, this is Sam Howell. He just moved here from South Carolina so please try to make him feel at home here in Deland." There was a murmur of "Hi Sam" before everyone went back to what they had been doing previously.

Mrs. Davenport pointed to a desk in the back of the room and told Sam he could use it if he wanted to. Sam walked quietly over to the desk and slid into the seat, reaching into his backpack and retrieving a notebook and a pen. The kid sitting to his right waved a little as he glanced over and a dark-haired girl sitting in front of him flashed him a flirty smile that caused him to blush.

"Alright, everyone." Mrs. Davenport said from the front of the class room. "Yesterday we began our poetry unit." She pulled a thin book from her desk and held it up. "Today we're going to be reading a few poems by Emily Dickenson and I want you to analyze the sentence structure and break down the prose just like we did yesterday." She ignored the collective groans and sighs echoing around the classroom and picked up an armful of books, walking around the room and placing one on each student's desk.

"Man, why do we have to analyze a stupid poem by that chick who wrote the Christmas story?" A young man sitting a couple seats away from Sam groaned, flipping his pencil across his knuckles irritably. "It's October, Christmas is still two months away."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "'Christmas Story'? You mean a Christmas Carol?"

The other boy looked at him challengingly. He had dark hair and dark eyes that narrowed when they came to rest on Sam's face. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, a Christmas Carol was written by Charles Dickens, not Emily Dickinson."

Following the giggles at the correction, the other boy's face began to flush in embarrassment. "So, you think you're pretty smart, huh new kid?" His voice darkened a little as he spoke, the idea of being shown up by a new student clearly not sitting well with him.

"No, I was just saying you were thinking of two different authors." Sam shrugged slightly, not really sure why the other boy was getting so upset. "I just figured everyone knew who Charles Dickens was _because_ of a Christmas Carol; hell, I've known that since fifth grade."

There was another chorused murmuring agreeing with Sam and the other boy's face darkened even further. "You little punk-" He growled, standing a little.

"Travis, just drop it." The brunette girl in front of him sighed, waving her hand dimissively in his direction.

"No one was talking to you, Sara." Travis snapped irritably, glaring daggers at Sam.

"Mr. Palmer." The teacher said, shooting him a warning glance. "That's enough. I will send you to the office again if you continue to be a disruption."

Travis refused to sit for a second, still glaring angrily at Sam. Finally, he fell back into his seat, flipping his pencil angrily a few more times.

Sam swallowed slowly, not entirely sure why the other boy had become so hostile so quickly. He picked up his book and flipped it open, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see the dark glare tracing his every move. Deciding to ignore it, he turned his attention back to the book and began reading through the poems.

**OOOOO**

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. Sam had tried to apologize to Travis after English but the other boy had stormed out before he got the chance to. With a heavy sigh, he turned down the hall and went off to his remaining classes. After the final bell for the day had sounded, Sam weaved his way through the exiting students to the front of the building.

He slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean's number. They had been in Florida for just over two weeks which was more than enough time for him to get into school and Dean to find a job. He had told Sam to call him when he got done with school and he'd come pick him up considering it was damn near impossible to get a hold of their father most of the time.

"Hello?" Dean sounded distracted, a sharp ripping sound tearing through the background.

"Dean?" Sam asked, holding the phone away from his ear a little to block out the noise.

"Hey Sammy, how was school?" There was another ripping sound.

"Uh, great. What are you doing?" Sam asked, still holding the phone away from his ear.

"Putting together boxes." Dean sounded distracted, his voice slightly muffled as the phone pressed into his shoulder. He had found a part-time job at a printing store and was currently knee-deep in boxes that needed to be taped together in order to hold various amounts and sizes of paper.

"Sounds fun. Think you can come pick me up?" Sam asked, looking up at the cloudy sky. It looked like rain, but then again they were in Florida; rain really wasn't that uncommon.

"I wish I could Sammy," Dean started, ripping another piece of tape off the roll and slapping it onto a box. "But I have to finish about forty more boxes before I'm done here. Think you can hang out until about five?"

Sam hesitated and weighed his options. Stay in the parking lot of an unfamiliar school, in an unfamiliar town, in an unfamiliar state or make the thirty minute walk back to the motel they were camping out in? He'd go with the latter. "Nah, it's okay. I can walk."

Dean paused. "You sure? It's a pretty long walk."

"Yeah, it's fine." Sam reassured him, setting off into the parking lot. He had a good memory and could remember the easiest way back to the motel from the school's driveway.

"Alright, well be careful. Don't take candy from strangers or anything."

"Dean, I'm not five."

"Coulda fooled me." His older brother teased, ripping off another strip of tape. "I'll see you later."

"Alright, bye." Sam hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, adjusting the straps on his backpack as he walked. A strong wind pushed the clouds a little closer, darkening the sky ever so slightly. Sam looked up and sighed softly, hoping it wouldn't rain before he got back to the motel. With little else in mind, he made his way across the street and began his trek down the sidewalk, completely unaware of the small group that had begun to follow along behind him_._

**Good? Bad? It picks up in the next chapter, I promise!! Hope to see you then!! :D**

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	2. Past Sorry

**Yay!! The stroy definately picks up in this chapter, the first was just to introduce everything :D Hope you like it!!**

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A dull rumble of thunder echoed distantly overhead, the air becoming slightly heavier as the cloud cover increased. Sam glanced up at the sky, squinting as the sun fell behind a thick grey cloud and disappeared for several minutes. He straightened his back slightly, setting his shoulders and looking straight ahead. He wasn't stupid; he was well aware of the group of boys that had been following him for the past couple of minutes. Probably the only reason they hadn't done anything yet was because they were still walking down the sidewalk of a relatively crowded are of town. Nothing but sub-divisions lay ahead and Sam would bet anything that's where they would choose to make their move.

The group was still several feet behind him, a far enough distance away that to anyone passing by it looked as if they had nothing to do with the lone boy they were trailing. They were talking quietly, their voices tumbling into a chaotic whisper around them. There was at least four, maybe five, and Travis was definitely in the front. Whatever grudge he had suddenly developed with Sam, he was determined to settle it today.

A large delivery truck rounded the corner up ahead and Sam knew it was tie to make his move. He glanced absently both directions as if it really mattered and crossed the street, the delivery truck passing him just a few seconds later. He slipped behind a thick oak tree that had been split by lightening on the other side of the street, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing his back into the trunk, staying as still as possible. It was a trick their father had taught them several years ago; a way to literally disappear. He told them to wait for some sort of distraction and then stand as still as possible in one place, making it seem as though you simply vanished into thin air. It didn't always work with demons who had an acute sense of smell but it could usually throw off a human long enough for you the get away. The less confrontation the better, especially when you're outnumbered five to one.

His trick worked. The boys following him looked around in confusion, not quite believing that their target had disappeared right in front of their eyes. There was a flurry of muffled whispers and Sam could hear them searching the street behind him. Amazingly, not a single one bothered to check behind the tree, probably because of the huge crack down the center that allowed them to see straight through it to the other side.

Sam could hear a rather impressive string of curses leave Travis's mouth as they came up empty-handed and returned to the other side of the street. He remained in his place for a few more minutes, nothing but silence greeting his ears as he waited. Finally, sure that they were gone, Sam peered around the twisted trunk of the tree and looked around the street. He could just make out the back of the last boy rounding the corner of a grocery store up the street and decided he'd better make sure to really disappear this time around. Shrugging his backpack a little higher on his shoulders, Sam started back on his path to the motel.

**OOOOO**

The street sloped downward, curving into a row of apartment buildings that crowded around the side of a small park. The sky had turned completely grey now, thunder rumbling distantly once again. Sam glanced at his watch, the black numbers read 4:45. His disappearing act had wasted about ten minutes but it wasn't the end of the world if he got home a little later than expected. His dad was off on a hunt and Dean more than likely wouldn't be home until closer to 5:30 so the lost time didn't really concern him.

The park next to the apartment buildings cut nearly a clear shot to their motel so Sam slipped past the apartment parking lot and set off into the trees. It was a nice park, usually filled with children and families anxious to be outside. A brightly colored playground stretched out across a boxed-in foam-like mat, the dark material scuffed and dirty from the children that played on it daily. A jogging trail curved around the park in several places, raising and dipping in a few areas before disappearing off into the trees behind the apartments. A small, brick pavilion up ahead held a few picnic tables along with a water fountain and restrooms that had been blocked off for construction.

Sam followed the path, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed again. Years of hunting had made his father slightly paranoid and it had eventually rubbed off on his sons. Upon seeing nothing but the street behind him, Sam let out a breath and continued through the park.

Just as he passed the pavilion, a hand shot out, grabbing a handful of his jacket and jerking him backwards. Sam's head slamming into the unforgiving brick and his winced, blinking up at Travis.

"Nice trick back there, new kid." Travis sneered, glancing over his shoulder to the four older boys who surrounded him. "Luckily Mark saw you before you could disappear all together." The other boys laughed quietly but there was no hint of humor in their voices, just malice.

Sam let out a slow breath and looked at Travis. "Look man, I'm not sure what I did to make you hate me so much, but it doesn't have to lead to anything like this." Sam kept his voice level and his breathing slow and calm. He knew how to fight and was actually pretty damn good at it, but when the numbers were stacked like this it made things considerably more difficult.

"Well, you see, Sam, you made me look pretty stupid earlier today in class." Travis started, his eyes glaring down at Sam. He stood at least a foot taller than him and was built like a linebacker, his arms bulging with well-defined muscles. "And I'm afraid I just can't let that slide." The boys behind him agreed though they really had nothing to do with Sam and Travis's disagreement. Typical jock gang; very little going on in their heads other than following the one person who tells them what to do.

Sam sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Alright, look, I'm sorry." He held his hands up slightly in a sign of surrender; he really didn't feel like dealing with this right now.

"Sorry's not going to cut it, new kid." One of the other boys said from behind Travis.

"He's right, Sam." Travis said, eyeing the smaller boy coldly. "I'm afraid we're past sorry."

"Alright, well then what do you want from me?" Sam asked, dropping his hands and glaring back at Travis with just as much malice as the other boy was throwing at him.

"How about you give me your wallet and we'll call it even?" Travis suggested, his grip tightening on Sam's shirt.

Sam sighed again. "Alright, fine. Just take it." The backpack was jerked off his shoulders and tossed to the ground, one of the boys immediately rifling through it and snagging the thin leather wallet Sam kept hidden in the bottom of the bag. Travis let him go long enough to take the wallet from the other boy and slip it into his back pocket. Watching as they continued to sift through his things, Sam straightened and glared at their leader. "Okay, you got my wallet. You happy now?"

Travis offered him a cold smile and shook his head. "Sorry Sam, but I think we're going to have to make sure this little mistake doesn't happen again."

Without a word, one of the boys behind Travis lunched forward, swinging his fist with deadly force right at Sam. Sam managed to dodge the blow, stepping to the side and easily kicking the boys legs out from under him. Another one came at him, catching him around the waist and attempting to throw him to the ground as well. Sam jerked his elbow back, the bone sinking deeply into his attacker's chest and leaving him doubled over gasping for breath. He shoved him back, effectively knocking over one other boy as he did. For a few minutes, luck was on Sam's side and he managed to duck and dodge every blow directed at him. However, luck is fickle and chooses the most inopportune times to run out.

A heavy fist connected with the side of Sam's head, knocking him back into the brick wall. That was all it took. Instantly, all of them were on him, kicking, punching, beating him mercilessly into the ground. Another hit left him dazed and he gasped sharply at the sudden, undeniable pain of a rib breaking. There were too many of them and getting up was probably going to take an act of God or congress so Sam had little other choice than to simply lie there and take it.

Finally, after what seemed like and eternity, the flurry of fists and feet stopped and the boys backed off, following Travis's lead. Sam could faintly hear them rummaging around through his bag some more, his notebooks and pens scattered on the concrete around him. Pain muffled everything around him, the voices sounded dull and far away, and Sam was content to simply lie still on the concrete, blood oozing from his busted lip. He heard Travis say something along the line of "welcome to Deland, Sam" before there was one final kick to his side and they left.

Sam laid still for a long time, glaring at his gutted backpack. Hot tears swelled into his eyes, tears of anger and pain, but he refused to let them fall. Instead, he slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow, wiping his bleeding lip and nose with his sleeve. A few renegade drops of blood had managed to stain his shirt but he didn't care. Sam dragged the backpack closer, looking inside to confirm what he already knew. They had taken everything of value, his wallet, his cell phone, anything that might be worth some form of monetary value. With a heavy sigh, Sam tossed the useless bag to the side and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. Everything hurt, the dull ache of hundreds of bruises beginning to set in already. He wrapped one arm across his stomach carefully, his hand covering a rib he was certain was broken. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself into a standing position, letting out a painful breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He winced, knowing walking was going to hurt, and set off once again toward the hotel.

The weather decided it had had just about enough of holding off the growing precipitation and let it go. It started to sprinkle.

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**God, I'm such a sadist -.-; Oh well, a little mugging never hurt anyone right?? Hehe, see you in the next chapter!! :D**


	3. Primal Instincts

**Wow, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update!! Class just started back up and I've been kinda busy with that so I apologize if my updates become a little more sporadic O.o Hope you like it though!! We get to see some serious big brother action from Dean in this chapter!! Jazz hands!!**

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Dean nudged the motel door open with the tip of his boot, adjusting the paper grocery bags in his arms a little as he stumbled into the empty room. He walked inside, setting the bags on one of the beds and pushing the door closed with his foot as he did. The room was cool and smelled like the rain that had just begun to fall outside, a thin breeze filtering through the cracked window next to the door. The air conditioner in their room was very particular about when and how long it decided to work so in order to solve that problem, the boys had started leaving the window open at night to let some of the cooler air circulate through the room.

Dean dropped the keys to his rental car on the cluttered coffee table next to the door and picked up the bags again. Their father still took the Impala out for most of his hunts leaving the boys with little option other than to rent a car whenever they settled down in a new location. Right now, his hunk-a-junk Ford sat outside, one window held up with a gratuitous amount of duct tape and the seats cracked and tattered from years of previous owners. When it came to car rentals, as long as it had four wheels and an engine, Dean was satisfied.

He walked toward the back part of the room to the little kitchen that had been set up in the corner. Their room was surprisingly big for what they paid for it, big enough for two double beds, a couch that folded into a bed, a kitchen and a bathroom with a few other pieces of furniture thrown in to add variety. He and their dad had worked out a deal: Dad would pay for the room if Dean bought the groceries. It wasn't all that hard to do and considering Sam was too young to hold a job right now it seemed only fair that Dean take on that responsibility. Speaking of…

Dean looked around and glanced at his watch absently. He didn't expect to beat Sam home but then again if he was walking the rain might've slowed him down a little. Plus, he'd called Dean around 4:15 and it was just now 5 o'clock; no reason to become concerned. Still, years of looking after his younger brother had led Dean's big brother senses into overdrive and he became a little panicky when he couldn't locate Sam as quickly as he would have liked. However, instead of dwelling over where the boy in question could be, Dean began unloading the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter.

The miniature refrigerator never got cooler than about 75 degrees so keeping anything dairy related was out of the question but it was cool enough to store water, soda, and whatever kind of juice happened to be on sale at the time. Sam had gotten on this hang-up about apples recently so Dean made sure to pick up a few at the store on his way home knowing that his younger brother usually didn't eat anything more than a piece of fruit for breakfast anyway. Dean shoved the 409 and laundry detergent under the sink, nudging the cabinet closed with his knee. The motel washing machines only took quarters but it was a full two dollars per load of laundry to buy a packet of detergent so in order to avoid that problem, the decided to buy in bulk even if they knew they wouldn't use all of it before they decided to move again. A few cans of soup were placed in the cabinet above the sink and a loaf of bread stacked on top of the refrigerator. The easier the better right?

Dean sighed and looked at the kitchen, slowly taking in the mess that had managed to accumulate in the past two weeks since they'd arrived. Paper plates and plastic cups were just about to overflow from the trashcan and a few empty fast food wrappers that smelled like stale food littered the counter top. Their clothes were scattered all over the floor (the room was big but it wasn't _that_ big) and the few remaining flat surfaces left in the room were cluttered with newspaper clippings and articles their father had held onto. Dean was relatively certain their father wouldn't be home anytime soon and cleaning would keep his mind off of wherever the hell Sammy was so, with another sigh, Dean set to work.

He grabbed a trash bag from under the sink and began tossing in the random bits of trash that had managed to make its way out of the can, glancing to the door every once in a while out of the corner of his eye. He hated that he was so overprotective of his brother; Sam was fourteen years old, well old enough to take care of himself. Still, looking after him was all Dean had ever known, ever since he was five, and it wasn't a habit he could easily drop.

Once the kitchen was sufficiently clean, Dean tied the trash bag and dropped it by the front door, setting to work on the room. He managed to sort his clothes from Sam's and put the designated articles of clothing next to the correct bed. Their father usually ended up sleeping on the couch so he had given the boys freedom to fight over the beds as long as they didn't put a hole in the wall like they had in the last hotel they'd stayed in. That had been a fiasco if they'd ever seen one…

Dean tossed another one of Sam's shirts to his side of the room, silently proud of himself for actually making it in the top of the bag, and bent to pick up another shirt. Sam had gone through a growth spurt over the summer and was now in that awkward, gangly teenager stage where he was all legs and feet. Still, Dean stood about four inches taller than him and was proud that he could still call Sam his "little" brother and mean it in every sense of the word. He knew that one day the younger boy would probably be taller than him but it hadn't happened yet and Dean was glad for that.

Dean looked over the living room one last time before he was satisfied that it was clean enough for approval. He wouldn't bother touching anything of his father's knowing that everything usually had a very specific place and God help you if you moved it. He flicked on the TV as he passed, the dull drone of the five o'clock news filling the empty hotel room. Looping the trash bag around his wrist, Dean stepped outside and made his way to the dumpster.

The rain had managed to die off slightly by the time he got outside, fading into a hazy grey mist that floated through the air and clung to your skin creating a chilly barrier. He shrugged his jacket a little higher onto his shoulders, still a little amazed that it could actually be considered cold in Florida, and walked across the parking lot to the dumpsters.

A few of the street lights had begun to flicker on around the parking lot, the mist swirling through the florescent lights in a dizzying dance. Dean swung the full trash bag into the dumpster and looked out across the parking lot, crossing his arms over is chest absently. Surely Sam should have made it back by now. He thought for a second about pulling out his cell phone and calling him but knew Sam would never let him live it down. With another shrug, he started to turn back toward the motel but stopped when something caught his eye.

A lone figure was trudging across the sidewalk in the little park across from their hotel. The person's head was bowed low to keep the rain out of their face and their hands were buried deep in the pockets of their jeans.

Dean let out a sigh of relief; he could recognize that trudge anywhere. "Sammy!" He called, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard over the traffic behind the hotel.

Sam looked up as he heard his name, squinting to see his brother standing a few yards away next to the hotel dumpster. He waved weakly, wincing as the movement caused a throb of dull pain to shoot down his side.

Dean jogged over to the edge of the parking lot, crossing to the park to meet his brother. "Dude, where have you been?" He called as he got a little closer. "I was starting to-" He stopped, all of the relief he'd felt earlier instantly being erased and replaced by something very close to fear. Sam had blood on his shirt. "Oh my God, Sam what the hell happened?!" He demanded, breaking into a full on run to reach his brother.

Sam winced a little as Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, clutching him tightly. The ramble of questions the older boy threw at him had been expected but the concern kind of surprised him a little. "Dean, its-"

"Don't you dare tell me its nothing, Sam!" Dean snapped angrily, catching his younger brother's chin gently and looking at the dark bruises forming under his eyes and across his jaw. "What happened?" He asked again, his voice deadly calm.

Sam swallowed; he'd heard that voice before but never from Dean, it had always been from their father. And it was usually when he was about two seconds away from beating something to death with his bare hands. "I got mugged…" Sam answered softly, suddenly not able to make eye contact with his older brother.

"What?!" Dean growled, his eyes narrowing sharply. More than the primal rage he had coursing through his veins at the moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. If I'd picked Sam up when he called me then this probably wouldn't have happened, he thought, his jaw setting into a solid line. "Who did it?"

Sam hesitated, his hazel eyes looking at anything but his furious older brother.

"Sam." Dean snapped, shaking him ever so slightly. "Who did this?"

Sam let out a slow breath and looked down again. "It was one of the boys from my class…" He answered finally, still embarrassed that he'd been beaten so easily. Their father had taught them how to fight at a very young age and he should have been able to hold his own in the fight…

"That son of a bitch…" Dean growled, glaring off into the trees like as if the offender were standing only a few feet away from them.

"Dean, look its fine-"

"No, Sam. Its not fucking fine!" Dean snapped again, his eyes instantly softening when he saw Sam cringe. He let out a loud, frustrated sigh and shook his head. "Sammy, I'm not mad at you, okay? But don't pretend this alright when it isn't."

Sam nodded a little, pushing a few damp strands of hair away from his face. He hurt everywhere and it was getting worse with each passing second. He just wanted to go inside and forget today had ever happened. A cool breeze swirled across the parking lot and he shivered unconsciously, the mist seeping a little further into his clothes.

Noticing the shiver, Dean shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across Sam's shoulders, tucking it around him carefully. "Well, it won't make things any better if you catch a cold standing out here." He mumbled quietly, still glaring out at the empty park across from them. "Come on, lets get you inside." He rested an arm protectively across his brother's back and lead him back to the motel, once fist still clenched painfully at his side.

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**Poor Sam, I'm such a sadist but it's all for fun right?? :D**


	4. Brotherly Blackmail

**Whoo! Another chapter down :D I'm really trying to keep these pretty consistant but if I fall behind I'm very sorry!! Anyway, on with the fluff!!**

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The harsh florescent lighting of the motel did nothing to camouflage Sam's bruises, if anything it simply made them stand out more. The pale skin beneath his right eye was beginning to turn a sickly purple color and the curve of his jaw was mottled with varying shades of reds and maroons. The dull yellow glow from the light bulbs made everything appear darker, more livid, and it pissed Dean off even more.

He closed the door behind them as the entered, fastening both locks and glaring back out the window unconsciously. He was about half a step away from running outside and beating the living crap out of the first person he saw but he knew it wouldn't help in the least and he needed to tend to Sam before anything else could be done. Keeping an arm wrapped across Sam's shoulders, Dean carefully steered him into the kitchen and nodded to the counter top. "Up." He said, pushing a renegade grocery bag off the counter. The bathroom was much too small for both of them to fit and the kitchen counter had more space anyway.

Sam obeyed silently and hopped onto the counter, gritting his teeth as the motion jarred his rib but managing to hold the expression in. He was relatively certain that there wasn't any kind of puncture or internal bleeding but it hurt like hell to take a deep breath and moving too quickly was definitely something to be avoided for the next few days.

Dean snatched the battered first aid kit their dad always kept with them and set it on the counter top, opening it and sifting through the wraps and bandages inside. "So do you know who it was?" He had to fight to keep his voice calm and even, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

Sam nodded a little. "Yeah, it was some guy from my English class. Travis something…Parker? Palmer?"

The older boy nodded absently, pouring some peroxide onto a cotton ball and turning back toward his little brother. "So what happened? Did you do something to him or did he just decide he didn't like you?"

"Something like that." Sam winced as the split skin of his lip began to sting as the peroxide was placed over it. "We had a little disagreement in class earlier today but I didn't think anything of it until this afternoon when they started following me."

Dean stiffened momentarily. "They were following you?"

"Yeah, I saw them."

Dean sighed softly and shook his head. "Okay, so then what? They confronted you and things turned ugly?"

"Yeah." Another wince as the cotton ball brushed over a particularly sore scrape along his jaw and a bandage was pressed over it. "They waited until I got to the park across the street so no one would see."

"Dammit Sam!" Dean sighed loudly in exasperation. "You let them follow you that far?! Did you even try to fight back at all?"

This time, Sam's anger managed to get the better of him and his face flushed in embarrassment and irritation. "Of course I tried to fight back, Dean." He snapped hotly, looking away. "But you know its kind of hard when you're outnumbered five to one."

A tense silence fell between the two for a minute, each still worked up from their last outburst. Finally, Dean let out a slow breath and shook his head. "Why didn't you call me?"

Sam kept his face down, eye focused on his jeans. Tears were prickling hotly behind his eyes but he wasn't about to let them fall. "They took my phone." He answered quietly, his voice filtering through a clenched jaw. The pressure hurt but it kept his mind off of the pain in his side and the feeling of weakness that begun to swell inside. He was disappointed in himself, he should have been able to handle himself better than that but was unable to. Their father had been training them to be soldiers ever since Sam could remember and to think he was taken down by something not supernatural or unnaturally strong, but something very much human was incredibly frustrating. One tear managed to fall without his permission and he scrubbed at his face angrily with the back of his hand. A strong hand caught his wrist and held it gently.

"Sammy." The boy in question looked up at his older brother. "Look man, I'm sorry I snapped at you." Dean said, brushing another unshed tear away from his brother's face with his thumb gently. "I know you fought back, cause you're a Winchester and that's what we do. You just happened to end up on the losing side this time around." He offered Sam a teasing smile and ruffled his hair. "But next time you better make sure to either call me or pick a more evenly matched fight."

Sam shrugged out of his hand, smiling weakly. "Thanks, man."

Dean smiled and began to reassemble the first aid kit, tossing it back onto the worn couch in the bedroom. Nothing in there was breakable which was probably a good thing since it had been dropped, kicked, and run over on more than one occasion. He stepped into the bedroom and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants from Sam's bag and tossed them to him. "Now change clothes before you catch a cold. Plus, dad would go ape shit if he came home and saw you with blood on you shirt."

Sam nodded and stayed in the kitchen, not really wanting to fight his way around the bathroom at the moment. The sink protruded much farther than normal from the wall and making your way around it and the door at the same time usually required a bit more coordination than he felt he really possessed at the moment. He hadn't realized how wet he'd gotten outside until his clothes began to stick to his slender form and he started to shiver. He stripped himself of the damp blue jeans and pulled the dry sleep pants on, instantly feeling warmer than he had been earlier. The shirt was going to be a problem though…

Lifting his arms even a little bit hurt like hell and knowing he'd have to pull the shirt over his head was something he had been dreading for several minutes now. Still, he sure as hell wasn't going to ask for help with such a simple task and was determined to grit his teeth and bare it. That was until the injured bone decided to shift slightly causing him to halt and gasp.

Dean heard the sharp intake of breath behind him and turned, concern crossing his face at the sight of his younger brother slightly hunched and squeezing his eyes shut in pain. "Sammy?" He walked back into the kitchen, placing a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder and kneeling so he was eye level with him. "You okay?"

"I'm awesome…" Came to strained reply, Sam's eyes still squeezed shut and his breath coming out in shallow gasps.

"Sure you are." Dean noticed the way Sam kept his right arm pressed to his side, almost like a shield, and grabbed his forearm gently. "Let me see it, Sammy."

Sam hesitated a few seconds but finally let his arm fall, straightening slowly and taking a shallow breath. Dean carefully lifted his shirt, cursing softly as his eyes came to rest on the underlying damage. Sam's side was a patchwork of bruises, deep and livid, and skin was swollen. "Jesus Sam, did they beat you with a shovel?!" Dean demanded, his fingertips brushing lightly across the bruises.

Sam winced, sucking in another breath through his teeth. "No, but they had shoes…"

The anger flared again and Dean had to take a few seconds to calm down before he did anything else. After he managed to relax enough to not snap at his brother again, his gently placed both hands on either side of Sam's chest, his fingers wrapping around to his back. "Take a deep breath for me."

Sam obeyed wordlessly, taking a slow, deep breath and holding it for a second. He'd been through this enough times in his life to know what was going on. Without waiting for his brother to say it, he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, the pain radiating beneath Dean's hands.

Dean remained motionless for a few more seconds, concentrating on the feeling of Sam's breathing beneath his palms. Finally, satisfied that he hadn't punctured a lung or anything equally awful, he stood slowly. "Well, nothing deadly but it'd more than likely broken." He ignored the way Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the shirt from the counter. "Give me your arm."

"What? Why?"

"You obviously can't take your shirt off by yourself right now so I'm going to help you." Dean explained, draping the clean shirt over one arm and looking at his brother. "Now, give me your arm."

Sam hesitated, shaking his head slowly. "No way."

"What?"

"Dude, if I let you help me get dressed, you're going to use it against me for like a year."

"Sam, how many times have I ever blackmailed you?"

"Four."

Dean stopped for a second, giving Sam an incredulous look. "Name one time."

"Alright," Sam said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest to avoid crushing his rib. "Remember when I was eight and broke my leg and needed help taking a shower?"

"Yeah?"

"You told everyone in the neighborhood."

Dean stopped again. Damn, he didn't think Sam would remember that. He sighed and shook his head. "Sam, look, I'm not going to make fun of you or blackmail you or anything like that. I just want you to change out of that wet shirt before you catch pneumonia on top of everything else."

Sam looked at him for a few seconds, debating on whether or not he should trust what Dean was saying. "Promise?"

Another loud sigh. "Yes, Sam. I promise."

The younger boy hesitated for a minute longer before finally nodding. "Okay." With Dean's help, Sam managed to wiggle out of the damp t-shirt and drop it to the ground. His older brother shoved the dry shirt over his head and carefully pulled his arms through the sleeves.

"There, now was that so terrible?" Dean asked once Sam was sufficiently clean and dressed.

"Awkward."

"Of course it was." He laughed and ruffled Sam's hair again.

Sam smiled a little, the swelling along his jaw making it look more like a grimace than a smile. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled and shrugged a little. "Eh, you're my pain in the ass little brother. It's what I'm supposed to do, right?"

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**Yay!! More hurt/comfort goodness to come!! It makes me feel all soft and mushy inside, hehe :P**


	5. Vicodin Rocks!

**Woot!! Another chapter down!! :D More shameless fluff below!!**

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"Here, take this."

"Huh?" Sam looked up just as Dean handed him a bottle of water and dropped a small white tablet in his hand. He studied it for a second, the action a little harder than usual considering his eye was attempting to swell shut. "Vicodin?" He said finally, raising an eyebrow a little.

Along with the typical items a first aid kit usually contained, the Winchesters had managed to build up a decent pseudo-pharmacy over the past few years. They had everything from run-of-the-mill painkillers to small doses of morphine that was only to be used in emergencies. The Vicodin had come from a hospital visit about a year beforehand when their dad had broken his wrist during a hunt. He refused to have his arm wrapped in a cast, calmly explaining to the attending nurse that in his profession he needed complete mobility from all joints. The nurse accepted this, buying the story of their father being a carpenter rather than a hunter who chased after things that seemed to be the brain-child of John Carpenter. He was given enough Vicodin to knock out an army and was told to come back if any complications were presented. The complications indicated didn't include tracking a Chupacabra to the Mexican border so a little over a year later nearly half the bottle of Vicodin was left.

Sam studied the tiny tablet carefully and shook his head. "No, its okay. I'm fine." He passed the pill back to Dean, waiting for him to take it. When it came to hunts, it was usually either Dean or his father that got injured considering they were older and more reckless than he was. He wanted to keep the medicine supply as stocked as possible for occasions like that knowing it would be a bitch and a half to get more of it once they ran out. Their fake Ids could only go so far before people began to catch on.

Dean looked at the pill and then at his brother. "Sam," He began, his voice not leaving any room for argument. "You and I both know that a broken rib is one of the most debilitating things ever because it hurts like a bitch there's not a whole hell of a lot you can do about it. Now I can wrap your side but the swelling would only make the pain worse to just take the damn pill and stop worrying about how much we have left." Dean knew his brother and knew exactly what he was thinking. Sam had this bad habit of worrying about everyone but himself and it often had a tendency of coming back to bite him in the end. When he was six he had spent nearly a week taking care of his older brother and his father when they were sick with a cold and had neglected to sleep or eat properly for a little over five days. The result was an upper respiratory infection that landed him in the hospital for just under a week and Dean had never let himself forget that.

With a sigh, Sam nodded and popped the tablet into his mouth, washing it down with the water in his hand and swallowing sharply. For some reason he could never swallow fast enough to beat the bitter taste of the medicine in the back of his throat and it made him gag. He coughed once, gritting his teeth in pain, and took a slow breath. "Happy now?"

"Gallant." Dean flashed him a lopsided grin and gently pushed him onto the couch. "Stay here." He said, snagging the room key from the table and walking toward the door.

"What?" Sam straightened a little, his eyes widening. "Where are you going?" He asked, irritated with how tense his voice sounded. Judging by his older brother's earlier demeanor, there was not telling where he was heading. Possibly to track down and beat the living crap out of whoever had mugged his baby brother was what Sam guessed.

However, to his relief, Dean turned with a surprised look on his face and glanced to the door again. "I was going to go get some ice for your side." He answered honestly, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Why?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly and shook his head. "No reason…I was just wondering."

Dean regarded the younger boy for a few minutes longer, searching his face for a reason to Sam's previous outburst. If he wasn't mistaken, it almost sounded like fear in Sam's voice but he wasn't sure. Then again, Sam could have easily jumped to the conclusion that Dean was going to act on his barely controlled desire to pummel the next person he saw into the ground with a park bench. That was a possibility too. He smiled again, winking at his younger brother. "Don't worry, I'll be right back."

He stepped outside into the humid night, closing the door softly behind him. The plastic ice bucket sat empty right outside the door and Dean snagged it, tucking it under his arm and walking toward the vending machines at the end of the sidewalk. He looked across the parking lot carefully, sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on the darkened patch of trees that marked the perimeter of the park. He desperately wanted to find who had done this to his little brother but he knew there wasn't a lot he could do about it right now. The sun had already set and the weather wasn't going to get much better in the next few hours. Besides, Sam was his top priority right now and making sure he was alright was more important to him than making sure the punks who had done it were dealt with.

The light flickered inside the vending machine, the dull buzz of a dying light bulb radiating from the back of the machine. He pushed the ice bucket under the opening in the machine and pressed the button, watching as the internal compartment sputtered and coughed before finally hemorrhaging ice cubes into the container. Once it was full, he tucked the bucket back under his arm and headed back for the room.

Sam was still sitting on the couch when he returned, watching the television with only half interest. He shifted stiffly when Dean walked back in, offering his older brother a smile that said "I'm fine" but was as transparent as the windows in their motel room.

"Sure you are." Dean said even though Sam hadn't said anything. He walked into the kitchen and dumped the ice in the sink, turning on the water so it would break up a few of the larger chunks that had managed to make it into the bucket. He grabbed a discarded grocery bag from under the sink and scooped a few handfuls into it, tying the top into a tight knot and wrapping it in one of the towel that had been left on the edge of the counter. He walked back into the bedroom, dropping onto the couch next to Sam and handing it to him.

Sam took the bag and smiled slightly, pressing it to his side and sucking in a sharp breath as the cold made contact with the bruised, swollen skin.

"You okay?"

It took a minute for him to respond but Sam managed a nod. "Yeah." He breathed, keeping his eyes closed for a second before he allowed his body to relax against the couch. The Vicodin was beginning to work but not nearly fast enough. An intense, throbbing burn radiated through his side and every breath felt like a knife wound. Finally, after a few more seconds of clenching his fist in the cushions of the couch, Sam fell back against the couch and exhaled slowly.

Dean watched him from the corner of his eye, remembering the feeling. He'd broken a rib about eight months ago when the floor of the abandoned house he and his father had been searching collapsed beneath him. The pain had been so intense he thought he was going to pass out but the soldier in him managed to make it through the rest of the hunt without a hitch. Sam hadn't been there though, he'd been at a speech and debate tournament that weekend; one of the few their father had ever let him attend. He'd won first prize and Dean couldn't have been more proud, even if his rib was trying to kill him while they talked about it.

Sam shifted again, wincing faintly as the movement caused his side to start hurting all over again. Normally, this was an incredibly comfortable couch and they would usually sit and go over notes with their father until late in the evening, perfectly content with the support to worn cushions provided. However, normally Sam wasn't covered from head to toe in bruises so every position hurt and the cushions felt like they were made out of granite. He shifted again, trying to pay attention to whatever was on the TV but unable to do so. He wasn't even aware Dean had gotten up until he sat back down beside him.

"Here," The older boy said, dropping a pillow onto his lap and patting it with one hand. "Lay down."

"Huh?" Sam blinked in confusion, staring at the pillow as if it were the most unusual thing he'd ever seen. Sure, Dean cared for his little brother and was willing to do damn near anything to keep him safe but he was not the kind of person to get all involved in the "chick flick moments" as he called them and definitely didn't do cuddling.

Dean sighed softly. "Sammy, you'll be more comfortable if your laying down and not putting so much pressure on your side. Now lay down before I drag you down."

Sam hesitated a second longer before he finally shrugged in defeat and turned, laying back against the pillow resting against his older brother's leg. He shifted a little, keeping the ice pressed to his side, and relaxed against Dean.

"Better?"

"Yeah, actually." Sam smiled a little and turned his attention back to the TV, wondering when he had suddenly become so tired. It became increasingly harder to keep his eyes open and soon he couldn't even hear the dull drone of the sitcom they were watching.

Dean looked down, watching as Sam's eye finally slid closed and his breathing evened out. He smiled faintly to himself, running a hand absently through his little brother's hair. Sam was always a light-weight when it came to medication and the smallest amount would usually knock him out with very little effort. They never had to worry about him developing an immunity to any of so that made things a little easier in the long run. Dean look to the door absently and then back at the TV. There was no telling when their father would be back, if at all that night so until then he would be in charge of watching over his little brother. He let his arm fall protectively across Sam's chest, his hand flattening against the younger boy's uninjured side. He could feel the slow, steady rhythm of Sam's heartbeat beneath his palm and he relaxed as well. Having him close and within reach always made Dean feel better, even if it was kind of silly. This was where he needed to be but more than that, wanted to be. He would look after Sam for as long as long as there was a breath left in his body. Because he was Sam's big brother and that's what big brothers do.

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**Okay, so the ending was pretty mushy but oh well :D Hope you liked it!! See you in the next chapter!!**


	6. Vicodin Sucks!

**Yay!! Lots more fluff to come as promised!! I got a sugar-rush just writing it :D**

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Dean blinked slowly and shook his head, trying to ward off the clinging grasp of sleep that threatened to claim him. He'd been sitting in the same position for nearly and hour and a half and the dull drone of the TV was beginning to make him drowsy. Outside, a steady patter of rain had begun to fall, splashing off the overhang of the roof and speckling the window with shiny droplets of water. Considering rain usually acted as a substitute for instant narcolepsy for Dean anyway, this wasn't doing anything to help him stay awake either.

He shifted slightly, trying to keep from jostling Sam too much as he moved. The younger boy had fallen asleep against his leg and was unintentionally cutting off the circulation to his foot. However, Dean was sure if he tried to move his leg it would wake his brother and he didn't want to risk it. So instead, he contented himself to simply shifting his hips slightly in a weak attempt to relieve some of the discomfort. It wasn't working…

The bag of ice that had been pressed against Sam's side had long since melted and had collapsed into a slushy pile of towels on the carpet. It would more than likely be forgotten before the night was over and someone would step in a cold puddle of water before everything was said and done.

Sam shifted a little, his movements rigid and stiff as his body resisted the change. Dean lifted his arm a little, waiting for Sam to settle into a more comfortable position before resting his arm back across the younger boy's chest. The bruises on Sam's face had faded just enough to placate Dean's older brother desire to punch a wall. He was still pissed, there was no denying that, but it couldn't be helped right now.

Sam shifted again, a soft moan building in the back of his throat.

"Shh…it's alright Sammy." Dean whispered softly, his fingers carding through his brother's hair. Sam had never been a very good sleeper, even when drugged into unconsciousness, and usually fidgeted throughout the night. Apparently tonight was no different.

Sam moaned once more, his breathing increasing slightly. The muscles in his back tensed suddenly and he squeezed his eyes shut a little bit tighter.

Dean frowned, watching his brother's reaction. "Hey, Sam." He whispered softly, leaning a little closer to Sam's ear. "Go back to sleep, okay? Everything's fine…"

This did very little to calm him because a second later Sam shot up, gasping sharply in pain. His eyes were wide, unfocused from sleep but the pain was evident in his face. He looked around the room frantically for a second, taking note of the door and the windows in case an immediate escape was necessary.

"Sammy?" A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder and Sam whipped around, his breath hitching in his throat as the movement pulled against his broken rib. Dean was looking at him carefully, concern very visible in his green eyes. "You okay?"

"Dean?" Sam gasped, still not fully aware of himself. He looked around the room once more, blinking slowly and trying to even out his breathing.

"Yeah kiddo, it's me." Dean answered, rubbing his back gently. "You alright? What happened?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah…I'm alright…" He mumbled back, his voice heavy in the back of his throat. "I had a dream…" He was silent for a second longer, gripping the side of the couch tightly. A slight shudder rippled up his back and his stomach did a back flip. Sam gasped and clamped his hand over his mouth. "I'm not alright…" He gagged, jumping up from the couch and sprinting to the bathroom.

Dean could hear a violent gag followed by the sound of Sam emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Sam had never been very good with medication and it often made him nauseous if he wasn't careful. Apparently going suddenly from sleeping to consciousness had instigated just such a reaction. Dean jumped up, attempting to make a run for the bathroom to help his little brother but that fact that his leg had been asleep for the better part of an hour, his body refused to hold his weight and sent him tumbling to the floor of the hotel room. He cursed softly, pulling himself to his knees and standing more slowly, shaking his leg out as he did. The pins and needles sensation that raced up and down the side of his leg was hella irritating but at least he could walk without having another intimate meeting with the floor.

Sam was hunched over the toilet, gagging and spitting as the last of his stomach contents left his body. He groaned, closing the lid and leaning against the wall, his arm wrapped tightly around his middle. The pain in his side that had just begun to fade due to the Vicodin was now back with a vengeance because of his Olympic sprint to the bathroom.

His older brother appeared at the doorway a second later, leaning heavily against the wall for support. "Sammy? Are you alright?" Dean asked, stumbling into the bathroom and sliding down next to his brother.

Sam thought for a second, not entirely sure if he had an answer for that question or not. Finally, after a pause, he nodded slowly. "Yeah…I'm okay…" His voice was raspy, strained from the searing pain in his side, but he was relatively sure his body had nothing left to give up. A bitter, chemical taste coated the roof of his mouth and he made a slight face as he swallowed. "Ugh…"

"Yeah, I didn't think you could hold it down for that long…" Dean watched him for a few seconds, trying to judge whether or not Sam was going to be sick again. When he wasn't, he nudged him gently. "Think you can walk?"

An even longer pause followed this question. Sam shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. "No…not just yet…"

The older boy nodded and leaned back against the wall. He wasn;t about to jerk his little brother off the floor if it was going to make things worse but he knew that most of the drug was still in Sam's system and if he fell asleep on the bathroom floor, he would almost certainly catch a cold. A brief silence fell between the two, no longer than a couple of minutes, before Sam nodded slowly.

"I need help…"

Dean smirked faintly and nodded, looping Sam's arm around his neck and wrapping his other arm around his waist. "Okay, just take it slow, alright?" When Sam nodded in agreement, Dean slowly began to stand up. He paused occasionally when his little brother would gasp beside him and would wait for Sam to indicate that he was ready to move again. It took much longer to stand than he thought completely necessary, but Sam managed to cling to Dean long enough to get upright.

"Let's try the bed this time. You'll probably be more comfortable lying flat." Dean suggested, walking slowly back into the other room with Sam in tow. Not that he really had a choice, Sam wasn't sure he could even protest at this point.

Within a few minutes they'd made it across the room to the bed closest to the window. Dean pulled the stiff comforter and sheets back and gently dropped Sam onto the mattress. "Try to get some more sleep, Sammy." He said quietly, watching as Sam blinked tiredly. He started to back away but stopped when he noticed a fist still tangled in the hem of his shirt. Sam wasn't going to let go. It was unusual; something his little brother hadn't done in several years but had resorted to doing now. When he was much younger and had nightmares, Sam would often either beg Dean to stay with him or abandon his bed and take up occupancy with his sibling. But it hadn't happened in about nine years so whatever Sam had been dreaming about earlier must have really bothered him. Dean paused, contemplating pulling away or staying and sighed, going with the latter. "Alright, scoot over."

Sam complied, moving slowly to the opposite edge of the bed and leaving enough room for Dean to settle in beside him. Once they were both in the bed, Sam collapsed onto his uninjured side and stared blankly at the comforter.

"So, you going to tell what the dream was about? And don't tell me nothing because I know that's crap."

Sam was hesitated for a minute, his hand still gripped in Dean's shirt. "Fire…" He whispered softly after a second, the images playing back through his memory. "I dreamed about fire…"

Dean shuddered unconsciously, knowing exactly what Sam was talking about. He had dreamed about the night their mother had died. Not that Sam actually remembered any of it, he had been far too little, but the memory of your house burning down never really goes away no matter how young you are. "Well, it was just a dream." Dean mumbled, knowing it wasn't going to do much to erase the pain that night had caused all of them but hoping that it would at least ease his brother's fears for the rest of the evening.

The younger boy didn't say anything for a long time and Dean was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep or not when he spoke up. "Hey Dean…?

"Yeah?"

"Do you think it's stupid for me to want to go to school? To be like a normal kid?"

Dean paused, not entirely sure what to say. Their father had all but forced he and Sam to become hunters when they were younger, his quest to find the thing that had killed their mother making him obsessive almost to the point of a suicide mission. Neither of them had had a normal childhood, what with the constant moving, the intensive studying of all things paranormal, hell even the things they did to train weren't considered normal by some standards. Having races to see who could make it through a barbed wire obstacle course first was something most people would never dream of let alone try. But they had, Thanksgiving day two years ago. Was it really so bad to be normal? Dean had never known anything but what their father had taught them so to him being normal almost seemed boring but to Sam, maybe it was the only thing he ever really wanted.

"No, Sammy. I don't think it's stupid at all." He answered honestly, watching as the rain slipped down the window pane. "In fact, I think you'd probably be crazy to want to have a life like the ones we have. But you know, sometimes you just have to play the cards you're dealt and accept it for what it is. I know its hard Sam, but it won't be this way forever." Dean didn't know who he was trying to convince now, himself or Sam. "You just keep doing what your doing and I'll back you 100%. I know Dad gives you a hard time but he is proud of you, even if he doesn't say it much, and if it makes you feel any better, I'm proud of you too."

Sam smiled softly, his eyes almost completely closed. "Thanks Dean…" He whispered, comforted by his older brother's presence next to him. "Didn't know you were going to go all Chick-Flick on me." He teased, smiling as Dean rolled his eyes and bopped him with a pillow.

"I'll let that slide since you're hurt." Dean groused, pulling the blankets over Sam's head and dropping the pillow on top.

Sam laughed quietly from beneath the blankets. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

The rain began to fall a little harder, splattering the window next to him. The lingering effects of the Vicodin still left in his bloodstream pulled Sam closer to edge of sleep and he refused to fight it anymore. He closed his eyes slowly and let his body relax, his hand still wrapped in Dean's shirt.

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**Eeeeee...John gets home in the next chapter and I'm kind of afraid of his reaction O.o I'm debating on whether or not he should turn all crazy psycho as well or if I hsould just leave that to Dean...decisions decisions...Hope you liked it!! :D**


	7. Handle It

**Hello all!! So this chapter is a little shorter than the rest so I apologize for that. Also, I know John will probably seem a little OOC in this (I have a hard time writing him for some reason O.o) but hopefully its not too bad. I decided to make Dean the only one who gets to go all crazy psycho on Travis in the end but I like it better that way; you know brotherly revenge and all :D Hope you like it!!**

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It was just after midnight when the front door of their motel room swung open. Dean was on his feet in an instant, a 9 mm clutched in one hand, standing in front of Sam's bed protectively.

John Winchester raised one eyebrow slightly and smirked. "Good reflexes." He muttered, stepping into the room and dropping his coat onto the edge of the couch.

Dean let out a slow breath and lowered his arm, tucking the gun back into the waistband of his jeans. He'd gotten so used to it being there, he hardly noticed the cold solidity of the metal pressing into his lower back. "Jesus Dad," He sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes tiredly. "Whatever happened to your top-secret-shoot-anyone-who-isn't-me knock?"

His father just shrugged and popped his neck. "Gotta keep you on your feet somehow." He noticed the soggy towel on the floor along with the deflated bag of ice water and the first aid kit that had been tossed carelessly to the side. He frowned, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "What happened?"

Dean's gaze drifted absently to the bed behind him where Sam still slept. "Sam ran into some trouble on the way home."

John's eyes narrowed even further and he stepped closer to the bed to look at his youngest son. "What do you mean "trouble"?" He asked, his eyes falling across the shadowed bruises marring Sam's face.

"He got jumped by some kids from the high school."

John scowled. "Dammit Dean!" He growled, rounding to face his oldest son. "You were supposed to pick him up from school! What the hell happened with that?!"

Dean had expected this kind of reaction and simply stood a little straighter. Their father could be a real asshole sometimes but they also knew that he was fiercely protective of his family and that lashing out was simply his way of dealing with the situation. "Look Dad, I offered to give him a ride but he refused. I wasn't going to push the issue; Sam's old enough to make decisions for himself."

John growled some kind of curse beneath his breath, knowing Dean was right. If there was one thing he'd learned about Sam over the years it was that once the boy decided to do something it would take an act of God for him to change his mind. He ran a hand through his dark hair and glared at the floor for a second. "Who?" He asked finally, his voice clipped with barely controlled anger. "Did he give you a name?"

Dean nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little when he saw his father begin to calm down. "Yeah, he said it was some kid named Travis. Said they followed him back and managed to overpower him before he could fight back."

John listened carefully, his fingers drumming against the thick denim of his jeans. "Did he give you a last name?"

"Yeah, Palmer."

His father nodded once in acknowledgment. "Alright, I'll take care of it."

"No, you won't."

John looked up, a surprised look crossing his eyes. He was used to Sam talking back every once in a while but Dean hardly ever did. Ever. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to take care of it." Dean answered, his eyes darkening at the thought. His jaw was set tight in determination and his posture was rigid and stiff like an animal that had been trapped in a cage for too long. He glanced at Sam and nodded briefly to himself. "I'm going to take care of it."

John watched him for a second before he nodded in defeat. "Alright, I'll let you handle this your way." He emptied his pockets onto the cluttered table, fingers briefly leafing through a few pages. "We're not going to be here too much longer anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"We're heading out before the end of the month. Got a hunt down in Baton Rouge."

Dean just shrugged indifferently, not really willing to argue the point any further. He was used to the constant moving by now; Sam may have a problem with it still but it seemed like a good idea to get out of this town soon. He wasn't very fond of its citizens right now anyway. "Alright, I'll tell Sam in the morning."

John nodded and walked over, patting him on the shoulder. "Go change for bed." He said, noticing the rumbled shirt and jeans Dean had left in that morning.

"Yes sir." Dean said, grabbing a change of clothes from his bag and walking into the bathroom.

John waited until the door closed behind him and he heard the shower kick on before moving over to Sam's bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to gently brush away a few stray hairs that had managed to venture across the boy's forehead. The bruises on his face were still dark and angry in the dim light but they would heal pretty quickly. Dean had been patching his brother up for years and he was good at what he did. The blankets had fallen away from Sam's shoulders just enough so that he could see his son favoring one side. Carefully, trying not to wake him unless necessary, John reached out and lifted Sam's shirt just enough to see the ugly purple bruise that stretched across his ribs. He cursed softly, on hand clenching into a fist at his side.

Sam shifted a little, blinking slowly up at his father as consciousness filtered through his senses. "Dad?" He asked, propping himself on one elbow so he was sitting a little higher.

John smiled softly, a rare, real smile and nodded. "Yeah Sammy, its me. Dean said you ran into some trouble on the way home."

Sam hesitated for a second before nodding, looking down at the floral print on the comforter. "Yeah." He mumbled, unable to look his father in the eye. It was one thing to face Dean with the fact that he had gotten mugged but to face his father, a former marine and the man who had raised them to be soldiers from the time Sam's could walk on his own, that was completely different. "I'm sorry." He whispered, still not meeting his father's dark gaze.

John sighed and lifted Sam's chin. "Sammy, I'm not mad at you." He explained quietly, watching as Sam visibly relaxed at the words. "But next time I want you to wait for your brother instead of walking off alone. Understand?"

Sam nodded slowly, smiling tiredly. "Yes sir."

"Good." John pulled the blanket back up to shoulder and pushed him down gently. "Now try to get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." He knew it was a lie; usually you feel worse the morning after but sleep helped with the healing process.

Sam obeyed and settled back down onto the mattress. It didn't take long before he was asleep once again, his breathing slow and even.

The bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, changed and clean, rubbing a towel through his short hair. "Is he asleep again?"

"Yeah." John stood and walked over to turn off the TV. "You should probably get some sleep too, you look like hell."

Dean laughed softly and rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He muttered, dropping the towel into a pile of dirty clothes next to his bag. He fell onto his bed, switching off the light and pulling the blankets back. "Goodnight Dad."

John offered him a smile and nodded. "Goodnight son." A few minutes later, the sound of both of his sons sleeping peacefully was the only noise that filled the room. John settled back into the couch, pulling a folder full of paper into his lap and flipping through them absently. He needed to figure out what kind of method to use against a zombie that had been brought back through voodoo practices.


	8. Exit Strategy

**Yay!! Final chapter!! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story while I wrote it, you guys are the best!! :D**

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Dean shrugged into his jacket, plucking his keys from the table and dropping them in his pocket. Their father had already left early that morning around five, explaining he had a few more things to take care of around town. Dean had learned at an early age that it was better to just accept the answer his father gave him instead of trying to get a better one. Their lives were shrouded in secrets and deception so it hardly seemed different that their own father would have a few secrets he chose to keep as well.

Sam had woken up a little over an hour ago, fully intending to go to school that day. It had taken several minutes of persuasion and convincing on Dean's part to get him to stay home, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to make it through a full day regardless. Sam insisted he had to go, saying it was lame to skip the second day of school, but Dean countered that it would be much lamer to have to leave early without explaining why. Sam reluctantly agreed, knowing that if he left early it would make Travis think it was because of him. Letting him feel that he won that way would be much more irritating. So, with little other option, Sam was convinced to stay home all together.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night but the sky was still over cast and threatening, the breeze cool and damp. The parking lot was covered in shallow puddles, discarded plastic wrappers floating across the filthy water like small, brittle ships. The rental car was covered in leaves and twigs, probably blown away by the wind the night before.

Dean stood by the door, gazing out at the wet parking lot, his keys sitting in his palm. He needed to go into work to tell them what had happened (he didn't know the company phone number off the top of his head) because he wasn't all that comfortable leaving Sam alone for the whole day. They would probably bitch about it but his mind was made up.

"Alright, Sammy." He called, looking over his shoulder to his little brother sitting on the edge of the couch. "I'll be back in a little bit." He thought about telling Sam to call him if there were any problems but remembered he didn't have his cell phone. Not only that, but their dad had cut the line to the motel phone their first night there; he didn't trust public phones. He shrugged; he wasn't going to be gone that long.

Sam just nodded, the restless sleep he'd fallen into later in the night making him drowsy. "Alright." He said, offering his brother a small smile. He knew that Dean was just worried about him but the hovering was a little embarrassing. "I'll be fine." He reassured him as he stepped out into the parking lot.

Dean nodded. "Make sure to lock the door until I get back, alright?"

"Got it."

With that, Dean closed the door behind him and walked over to his car, sliding in behind the steering wheel and pulling out of the parking lot.

**OOOOO**

Not surprisingly, his boss had bitched and griped for about twenty minutes, even trying to guilt-trip him into staying to work, but Dean just shook his head. He explained that there had been a family emergency the night before and that he needed to get back home. There was really nothing they could do to force him to stay, the threat of firing him was always an option but the store was short-staffed as it was and losing another employee wouldn't be the best thing to do. Dean didn't have the heart to tell them that he'd be leaving permanently in a few weeks regardless. With much grievance, his boss agreed to let him leave, muttering under his breath as his newest employee walked out.

Dean sighed, getting back into the car and trying a few times to start the engine. The needle on the gas gauge was pointing dangerously close to empty and he felt a new wave of irritation wash through him. He'd just filled this car up a few days ago and already it was down to empty; just perfect. There was a gas station just up the street from his job so as long as the rental could make it a block or so, there wouldn't be a problem.

The car chugged along, barely making it to the gas pump before the engine began to sputter and jerk. Dean sighed again and got out, unscrewing the cap to the gas tank and dropping it into the driver's seat. The cap isn't even attached anymore, He thought, rolling his eyes at the total crappiness of his car. He dug his wallet out of his pocket and walked into the store, knowing that the pump wouldn't take cash.

A tired-looking man sat behind the front counter, his chin resting in his hand and a magazine flipped open on the counter. He glanced at Dean as he walked in but paid him little attention. Dean returned the courtesy and walked to one of the coolers at the back of the store, grabbing a soda from the rack and turning back the front.

"So ten bucks says that Howell kid won't show up today." A voice said from somewhere off to the left.

Dean stopped, recognizing Sam's fake name instantly. He waited; Howell was a pretty common last name so they could have been talking about anyone.

There was a scoff from the same area. "If that is his last name." A new voice said mockingly. "I looked through his wallet last night and that guy had like three separate IDs, each with a different name. It's like he's a terrorist or something." There was another short laugh before he continued. "Guess its good we got to him when we did."

Dean felt his fist clench next to his leg, his short nails biting into the palm of his hand. There was no doubt about it, this had to be Travis. He waited for them to walk to the front of the store before following, tossing a twenty on the counter next to the store clerk and dropping the soda on the counter as well.

Outside, three boys were walking toward the street, their backs to him. They were talking amongst themselves, laughing and cutting up as they walked.

"Travis Palmer." Dean called, watching as the middle boy turned around.

He stopped and eyed the older man for a second, turning fully to face him. "Yeah?"

Dean forced a smile and walked forward. "Hi there, my name's Dean." He said as he got closer, forcing his facial expression to remain calm and relaxed.

Travis looked at the two boys beside him and then back at Dean. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about my brother, Sam." Before he could react, Dean grabbed Travis by the front of his shirt and whirled him around, slamming him into one to the gas pumps. The other boys made a move to help him but one glare of the older boy stopped them in their tracks.

Travis's eyes widened a little and he struggled in the iron like grip that had him pinned to the machine. "So what, he needs his older brother to take care of his messes for him?" Travis snapped angrily, the fear behind his eyes giving him away.

Dean smirked and shoved him harder into the gas pump, pressing his forearm tightly against the boy's collarbone. "No, my brother can handle himself just fine. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time." He tightened his grip a little as Travis continued to struggle. "I want you to give him back his things." He growled, bringing his face closer to Travis's.

Travis nodded hesitantly, moving back a little as if he could somehow break free. "Look man, I'm sorry…" He stammered, wincing as the pain cut into his shoulder again.

Dean just shook his head and released him, making sure Travis fell into a large, gas swirled puddle behind him. "I'm only going to say this once." He said, crouching so he was eye level with the boy. "If you so much as look at my brother again the wrong way, I will find you and beat you to death with your own spinal cord. Trust me, I know how to kill you in more ways that you know how to die." He saw Travis's face pale at the seriousness behind his voice. "Do I make myself clear?"

There was a frightened nod not only from him but from the other two boys off to the side.

"Good." Dean flashed a smile and stood, walking over to his car and sliding in behind the steering wheel. He glared one last time through his rearview mirror and pulled away, leaving the boys in the parking lot of the gas station.

**OOOOO**

Sam was able to return to school the next day, his movements still slow and stiff but not quite as bad as it had been the previous day. He was surprised to see Travis had moved seats as far away from him as possible and was even more surprised to see his phone and wallet sitting on top of his desk. He didn't question it, he was more than certain Dean had something to do with it judging by the satisfied smirk he'd come back with the day before. However, his older brother never volunteered any information and simply told him not to worry about it. Sam had also figured out that they would be moving again by the end of the month but he wasn't quite as irritated by that announcement as he normally would have been. In fact, he was ready to get out of Deland.

For the rest of the month, Travis neither talked to nor looked at Sam, keeping to himself and as far away from the other boy as possible. Even Travis's friends refused to have anything to do with him but Sam was fine with that.

The day they packed up they packed up the Impala, Sam was the first one ready to leave. Usually he'd beg for them to stay a few more days but not this time, he'd had his fill of Florida for the time being. Dean wrote a long, drawn out note to the rental agency about how incredibly crappy his car was and left it on the windshield, tucked next to a cracked side mirror under a windshield wiper that didn't work.

Baton Rouge was their next stop, a long drive through a lot of trees as far as the boys were concerned but it didn't matter. Everyone was ready for a new town. So, without so much as a wave, the Impala pulled out of the parking lot of the motel they'd lived in for a little over a month and pulled onto the highway, leaving Deland and its inhabitants far behind.

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**So the ending was a little abrupt but I was trying to add to that sense of urgency that they had to leave. Probably didn't work...O.o Oh well, I hope you all liked it and thanks again for sticking with me!! Hope to see you soon!! :D**


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